Long Time Coming

La Playita The restaurant was nearly empty. March is one of the hottest months in Costa Rica, so maybe it was low season. This spring break was my last chance to travel before the real world started, so I was here despite the heat. “You’re traveling alone?” asked the waiter. “‘Fraid so,” I said, looking up from my book. The tall waiter seemed too close to blond to be fully Costa Rican. He was thin and his angular features were golden in the candlelight. “You’re American,” he said. “I know from your accent. But I’m surprised you are by yourself. Americans don’t like to travel alone.” “We don’t?” “No, especially not as young as you.” The waiter had a beautiful smile. I grinned. “My friend who was supposed to travel with me cancelled.” “It’s too dark to read,” he said, patting my shoulder. “Let me bring you another candle.” A breeze, sultry as a slow dance, blew through the glassless windows of the restaurant. “That’s better,” he said. “Oh! You’re reading Edmund White. He’s my favorite.” He had a big “aha” grin on his face. “Are you staying at La Mariposa?” he asked, referring to the hotel popular with gay men. “That’s a far walk in the dark.” “No. La Arboleda. Just next door.” “Their loss is our gain,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder again. Another waiter entered the dining room with my food. He looked remarkably like the one who’d been flirting with me, and they both wore their hair in neat pony tails. “This is my cousin, Luis,” the first waiter said. “I’m Rudiger.” “Rudiger?” I said, trying out the name. “My mother’s family is from Germany,” he said with a shrug. “We will let you eat.” I was not an epicure by any means, but I knew the heart of palm was an immense improvement over the vinegary canned offerings they had in the States, and the rum and coke was flavored with the sweetest lime I’d ever tasted. “It’s a shame to spend time alone,” Rudiger said as he cleared my table. “Would you like to meet on the beach tomorrow? Around ten?” My face flushed as I experienced an attack of shyness. Rudiger looked at me expectantly. I could see Luis watching me from the shadows of the bar. “Well…sure.” He grinned. “You haven’t told us your name.” “I’m sorry. I’m Jamie.” The next morning I discovered La Arboleda didn’t have hot water in the showers. After the initial shock to my body, it was fine. Another warm breeze filtered through my cabana to the shower, and I found myself wishing I had someone to kiss under the gentle spray. Later, I sat on the beach writing and waiting for Rudiger and Luis. They were late. The heat was nearly unbearable. The sun was so bright I could see it with my eyes closed. Occasionally, a flock of pelicans would fly by, and two small white planes buzzed the beach, chasing each other as if they were birds. “There he is,” said Rudiger as he and Luis came up behind me. “We thought you would be at Playita.” I didn’t know Spanish, but I was pretty sure playita meant “little beach.” He pronounced it “ply-geeta.” Rudiger wore only sandals and a pair of cut-offs that accented his strong thighs. “I don’t know anything about it,” I said, shielding my eyes. “Playita is the fun beach. No one wears anything,” he said. “It’s where we always go.” He moved to sit on my towel and practically crashed into me. He laughed. “I’ve never done that before,” I said. “Is it okay to wear clothes or is that weird?” “No, for you, it is not okay to wear clothes. Look at your muscles,” he said, grabbing my arm and squeezing. “It would be a crime. Too handsome. Why do you have your shirt on now?” “I can’t reach my entire back with the sun block, and I don’t want to burn.” “Ah, when we go to Playita, I do that for you,” Rudiger said. Now that I could see him in light better than the restaurant’s, he looked to be about twenty-nine. Judging from the sun-streaks in his hair and his golden tan, he spent all his free time on the beach. Both of them wore their hair the same way—longish, falling just below the shoulder. Luis stood a few feet away, staring at us but saying nothing. It crossed my mind he didn’t speak much English. I motioned for him to join us, but he shook his head politely. There was no room on the towel anyway. “Look at these books!” Rudiger began digging into my satchel. “Are you going to spend the whole time reading? That’s no fun.” He pulled out the Edmund White and then my Spartacus guide for gay travelers. “Aha!” he said, “so you were planning some fun.” The third thing he pulled out was a copy of the Cliffs Notes to Go Down, Moses. “That sounds like a dirty book,” Rudiger said. “Uh, no. It’s Faulkner.” “I know, silly,” he said. “Just because I’m a waiter doesn’t mean I’m stupid. So you’re in college?” “Yes, I go to Slippery Rock in Pennsylvania. I’m a senior.” “No Cancun for you? Like everybody else?” “It’s not my kind of place,” I said. He turned back to my bag. “Now here’s a dirty book.” He pulled out my copy of John Preston’s Mr. Benson. I reddened as he showed the cover of the erotic novel to his cousin. Luis grinned. “So are you the big bad Mr. Benson?” asked Rudiger, “or the slave, Jamie? Hey, your name is Jamie, too!” He gave me a hungry look that made my stomach jump. “I bet I know the answer,” he said. Luis had had enough of standing around and said something to Rudiger that involved gestures of impatience. He was as handsome as Rudiger and just as sinewy, but the slant of his eyebrows gave him a serious look while Rudiger’s face seemed to be always bright and beaming. “Okay, we go now,” said Rudiger. “You coming?” I shook my head. “I’m not ready for that.” “Then tomorrow?” Rudiger said, not the least bit discouraged. “Maybe,” I said. The realization that these men wanted to see me nude made my d**k stir more than a little. They had another exchange in Spanish. Rudiger said, “Luis says if you don’t want to go to the beach, we can take you to Manuel Antonio Park. We go in the secret way so we don’t have to pay. You see all the birds, flowers, trees…” I gave them a big smile. “That would be fantastic.” Rudiger got up. “Luis thinks you’re really cute,” he said. Luis smacked him on the shoulder and Rudiger laughed. “He likes blonds like you. But I get to have you first because I’m Mr. Benson.” Yeah, I thought, you’ve got the body and the height for it. But I don’t think a leather master would be caught dead in short shorts.